excluded
by cedricsowner
Summary: A multi-chapter Chance/Ilsa and Carmine story. Total fluff, way out of my comfort zone. Slight spoilers for season 2 finale. Final chapter up now.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

_We're back on Monday. Feed & walk Carmine in the meantime, please. _

Ilsa couldn't believe it. For about the hundredth time she tried to get a hold on at least one of them, but neither were her phone calls taken nor her text messages answered.

A closer look at the scrap of paper she had found on her desk revealed, however, that the note had been reworked several times. If she was correct, the original version, in Guerrero's fleeting, thin handwriting, read _We're off for PRIVATE business._ Then Chance, in his straight forward block capitals, had turned the sentence into _We're back soon. _Ames had added _Feed and walk Carmine in the meantime_ in slightly twirly letters and finally Winston had modified the whole thing into the current version with his I've-spent-25 years-writing-idiotic-reports-and-I-never-cared-if-anyone-could-actually-read-them hand.

Describing Ilsa's mood as "pissed off" would have been a euphemism. They had left her behind! To go on a job she, that was quite a safe bet, didn't approve of! Why else would they exclude her? And not only that, to add insult to injury, they had also left Carmine in her care, as if she was some goddamn dog sitter!

She was just about to take one of the white glass pears she kept on her desk and give it an impromptu flying lesson in order to vent off some of her frustration, when her cell phone rang after all. Unfortunately it was not one of the numbers she had been hoping for.

"Now, Ilsa, have you checked with your team? Has a new _job _come up or will you be available this weekend? You know how important this event in Aspen is and the board would really appreciate your participation." Despite Connie's chirpy tone, the subtext of the message was quite clear. Ilsa assured her she would arrive in time and yes, of course she would stay in the Maroon Lake cabin she and Marshall owned. Ilsa had to fight hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice when she thanked her sister-in-law for being so thoughtful and having it cleaned and prepared.

"Have you ever been to Aspen, Carmine?", she asked the dog who, sensing her distress, had come to lay by her side. Of course she could pay someone to take care of him or leave him at one of those luxurious dog kennels (and deduct the costs of it from the team's next month salaries), but no matter how grand the environment or how meticulous the dog sitter, he would still be alone, all of a sudden, without warning. Nobody deserved that.

"I hope you don't get airsick", she told him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Colorado had experienced an abnormally warm temperature period during the week prior to her arrival. It had caused all snow to melt and turned the ground into a muddy mess. The Maroon Lake cabin was worth millions, but in this kind of weather, with thick gray clouds covering the sky, leafless trees all around and black windows making it very clear that no one was at home to welcome her, it looked plain bleak.

First thing Ilsa did when she arrived was to turn on all lights and the TV in the living-room, a strange habit she had developed during the last year. Well, at least today she could excuse it with wanting to give Carmine the impression that he wasn't alone. She made sure he had food and water, then hurried to ready herself for the big charity event Connie had so insisted on she attended. Well, of course she had a point – quite a few of their regular donators would be there tonight and they expected to be well-entertained for their generosity. An amiable chat and a personal thank you from Ilsa Pucci herself was the least they could expect. This came with the territory in her position as head of the Marshall Pucci foundation. She could not bail out, especially not since her "recently widowed" status was slowly changing to merely "widowed" and that meant regarding social events, fencing season was over.

As she entered the master bedroom, she found a beautiful cream-colored evening gown lying on the bedspread, along with a note from Connie. _Marshall saw this dress in Paris and asked me to get it for you. It was supposed to be a surprise for your wedding anniversary. I think he would love it if you wore it tonight_.

It took Ilsa ten minutes to regain her composure.

Of course the gown fit perfectly. Connie had a knack for things like that. She had even bought matching shoes.

Before Ilsa left the house, she tried to reach Chance one more time. _The person you have called is temporarily not available._ Blind, totally unreasonable hatred flared up inside of her. "Well, I guess they wanted to conduct that job without the dead weight of me slowing them down. Clumsy and inexperienced as I am, they wanted me out of the way!" Frustrated and disappointed, she tossed the phone across the room.

Carmine, seeing something flying past him, followed the object with his eyes, looked back at Ilsa, then looked at the object again.

Playing? Now? Really?

It was way past his bedtime and he was quite tired from the journey. On the other hand, her hands were shaking and although she was trying to cover it up with that expensive perfume of hers, she wasn't smelling quite right. She gave off a whiff of adrenaline and that meant she was upset about something. Well, if playing somehow helped to make her feel better, who was he to deny a lady a wish? He slowly got to his feet, trotted to the fallen phone, cautiously took it in his mouth and brought it back to her.

As Carmine laid the saliva-covered cell phone at her feet, Ilsa couldn't help but cry.

The chauffeur of the limousine Connie had sent had to wait almost thirty minutes before Mrs. Pucci was ready to leave.

An icy wind was coming down the mountains as she stepped out of the cabin's front door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"Is that Ilsa again?", Winston asked Chance who gingerly shifted his shoulders in a gesture of confirmation whilst switching off his phone.

"You're sure you don't want to take that call, now that the job is over?"

Chance shook his head. "Better face her directly. After a day of rest. She doesn't expect any of us before Monday, so all we've got to do is avoid her a little... Can you trace her phone, Guerrero?"

Only minutes later Guerrero told him her location, to their utter surprise a mere two hour's drive away from their own.

"She's in a cabin in Aspen?", Chance asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Alone?"

"Apparently", Guerrero replied, fingers flying over the keyboard of his notebook as fast as his bandaged right hand allowed. "She's on the guest list of some stiff necked social event connected with the Marshall Pucci Foundation. Looks like she took Carmine with her." He showed his friend a still from a San Francisco airport security camera. Indeed, that was Ilsa boarding the jet with Carmine.

Chance paused for a moment before speaking up again: "Well, I better go and get him. He's not used to the thin air up there."

Winston and Ames exchanged glances. Ames rolled her eyes as best as her eye patch allowed. Guerrero snorted.

Carmine.

Yeah, sure.

… … …

"We so miss your husband, Ilsa. He was such a wonderfully charming man. I so loved having him at my dinner parties. The whole room lit up the second he walked in. And all the wonderful anecdotes he could tell! His tales about his adventures in Africa and Asia saved so many of my charity breakfasts. What a loss!"

Years of strict conservative boarding school education held. Ilsa did not dowse the woman with the content of her cocktail glass. But she made a mental note to tell Guerrero to plant the names of several hookers and a notorious tabloid journalist on the guest list of her next _charity breakfast_.

Thinking of Guerrero made her think of Chance and of the way they – no, HE, because without his consent nothing in the team moved – had betrayed her. Of course, she had thrown a tantrum every now and then, regarding some (granted, most) of the measures the team had taken to safe this or that client, but was that a reason to leave her behind? In the end she had always caved in and supported them. How could they exclude her so coldly now, without even giving her a chance to form an opinion? They had just assumed she wouldn't approve and left her in the dark. Alone. Ilsa clasped the stem of her glass so hard, it almost broke.

_"I'll never let you go, Ilsa." _Chance's words on the hotel roof. Nothing but mockery, apparently.

"Everything okay, dear? You look a bit pale." Connie by her side again.

"I'm fine, Connie, thanks for asking. But I've just contemplated not to go back to the cabin at all but to go straight to the airport after the party. I'm thinking about a trip to Madrid."

"Sounds like a wonderful idea. What are you going to do with that dog? Shall I arrange his transportation back to San Francisco?"

Oh damn_, _Carmine.

Connie's offer was tempting. Of course, he would probably be a bit confused when strangers came and put him in a box, but he was a dog, for heaven's sake, he would survive it.

… … …

To Chance's relief the cabin's security system was state of the art. In addition to that the patrol car of a private security company came round in short, unpredictable intervals. Ilsa was quite safe here. Good. So all he needed to do now was take Carmine and leave a note.

**_A/N: A big thank you to DD, jackattack, littlemissmistake and all my other anonymous reviewers who I'm forgetting here for leaving comments on my fics! It means a lot to me!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

It was past two o'clock in the morning when Ilsa arrived back at the cabin. Her anger about that charity breakfast crone had subsided and she was thinking clearly again. She just couldn't let Connie handle Carmine's transportation. The poor boy, how would he feel when strangers came, put him in a box and sent him on such a long journey, all alone? It was just not fair, making decisions for him and not sparing a thought on his feelings. She had decided to fly with him to San Francisco, have a word with Chance and the others about disappearing for _private business_ and then go off to Madrid for a significant period of time. Would she go back to San Francisco eventually? At the moment she didn't feel like it. Apparently they didn't care about her after all, so why should she care about them?

_"I'll never let you go, Ilsa." _Well, going away himself was obviously a totally different story.

At least the cabin's windows weren't black this time. She had left the lights on for Carmine.

When she crossed the doorstep, she noticed that the TV was off. Immediately her instincts, significantly honed by her recently acquired ownership of a certain San Franciscan security company, sprung into full alert mode. Not only the TV was off, someone had also lit the fireplace. The soft glow of the flames and the natural warmth of the fire welcomed her like a soothing embrace. Carmine was lying sound asleep in front of the armchair right by the fireplace, snoring deeply. He was comfortably sprawled out – over somebody's feet!

Ilsa froze and stared. Carmine opened his eyes, noticed her presence, got to his feet and trotted towards her to greet her.

His feet suddenly getting cold, Chance woke up from his slumber and realized that Ilsa must have arrived. Preparing himself for an onslaught of accusations, he stumbled to his feet to face her.

Well yes, as should be clear by now, Ilsa _had_ quite a few accusations to sling at him. But she shoved them all to the far back of her mind the second she caught sight of his uncharacteristically stumbling figure and his face.

"Oh my…" She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a shocked gasp.

At first Chance was puzzled by her reaction, then it dawned on him that the bruises and cuts on his face must look a lot worse now than they had a couple of hours ago, when he had said goodbye to the rest of the team.

"You need to cool that!", Ilsa finally managed to utter. What happened from then on for the next two hours or so was not thought through, not at all. It was Ilsa acting on pure emotion alone. She dashed off in the direction of the kitchen. When she came back, she carried icepacks and a first aid kit. "This cut above your eyebrow looks really bad", she told him, leaning in closer to get a better look at it, now that she was over the first shock. "Why didn't Guerrero stitch it up properly?"

"Guerrero's right hand is not quite in order…" Chance let the words sink in. Under normal circumstances it was Guerrero's job to stay on top of things from a distance, usually aided by a wide range rifle with a scope. When he got into the picture for close combat, things must have gone really bad.

"Did Winston patch you up?", Ilsa asked, now alarmed. Nothing against Winston, but his skills with delicate objects such as needles were limited. "Take off your sweater!", she ordered Chance.

"Ilsa, really, it's nothing…"

She grabbed its hem and rolled it up herself, revealing a soaked, bloody bandage around his stomach area. "Lie down on the sofa, flat on your back", she ordered him. As soon as he had made his way across the room, she took it upon herself to carefully take off the sweater completely.

"You'll ruin your dress", Chance cautioned her as she proceeded to remove the bandage.

"I don't care", she replied, and it came out with much more edge in it than she had originally intended.

Chance noticed that edge, but, to be honest, he was way too relieved that she wasn't making a scene and way too tired to go into that. Tomorrow…

As Ilsa meticulously cleaned the ugly, clumsily stitched up gash across his stomach, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He didn't even notice her unbuttoning his jeans, opening his flies and pulling his trousers a little bit down to get better access to the far end of the wound. By the time she was finished re-bandaging his injuries, he was sound asleep.

Ilsa decided against putting the sweater back on him again and thus risking to wake him up. Instead she covered him with a blanket, switched off the lights, relocated to the armchair by the fireplace he had abandoned, wrapped herself in the blanket he had used and soon dozed off, too, lulled to sleep by the regular rhythm of his breathing and Carmine's light snoring.

She hadn't forgotten what he had done to her, of course not. But his well-being was obviously far more important to her than anything else. That realization followed her into her dreams and woke her up far too early the next morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

When Ilsa woke up the next morning, she noticed immediately that something had changed. Bright sunlight was flooding the room. She squinted and looked around. Snow had fallen during the night! A thick, heavy blanket was covering what yesterday had been a bleak swamp of mud and gray trees. Carmine was standing by the French window that led to the garden, completely mesmerized by the suddenly glittering landscape. Chance was still sound asleep. She noted with relief that the bruises on his face looked better.

As quietly as possible, Ilsa tiptoed to the dog's side. "Have you ever seen snow, Carmine?", she whispered and figured he probably hadn't. Snowflakes in San Francisco were extremely rare and full snow coverage in the Californian climate most likely a physical impossibility. Ilsa looked around the room. Chance's sweater was still lying where she had discarded it yesterday night and behind the armchair she could see a small sports holdall in camouflage colors which he had apparently brought with him. It was open and there were draw-string sweatpants lying on top of everything else. In a spur of the moment decision she slipped out of the evening gown she was still wearing, put on his sweater and pants, slipped into his windbreaker jacket, collected her old boots from the adjacent storage room and stepped outside.

His injuries had made him a little less alert than he usually was, but Chance wouldn't have been Chance, hadn't he noticed a beautiful woman undressing practically right under his nose. He went down the gentleman's road, however, and blinked only twice, for a very short moment, really. What got him thinking, though, was the way Ilsa tossed that expensive evening gown carelessly into a corner.

Stretching himself as long as possible, his hind legs still firmly planted in the cabin's living-room, Carmine approached his first ever snowdrift. The second his nose got in touch with the snow he immediately withdrew, shook his head, sneezed and looked at Ilsa indignantly, as if he wanted to say: "Hey! That's COLD! And WET!" Ilsa half expected him to beat a hasty retreat to the fireplace, but instead curiosity got the better of him and he started a second test run.

Turned out snow was still cold and wet.

Ilsa couldn't help but laugh at the way he pushed his nose into the snow, jumped backwards at the unexpected sensation, sneezed, rubbed his paw over his face and then had nothing better to do than dipping his nose into the drift again, repeating the whole procedure.

Her merry laughter made Carmine look up and tilt his head. It had been quite a while since he had heard that sound from her and he wasn't sure he had ever heard it so clear and bright. He liked it and he wanted to hear it again. For whatever reason her reaction seemed to be connected with the white strange stuff on the ground, so he cautiously planted his front paws in it.

They immediately sunk in several inches.

Huh?

Totally shocked, he jumped backwards.

Ilsa made that sound again.

Okay, her reaction was definitely connected with the white strange squishy stuff on the ground. Carmine took a deep breath, gazed at Ilsa questioningly: "Does this really make you happy?" and then did a huge leap right into the white mass.

UGHHHH! It reached up to his stomach! Carmine tried to jump out of it, but in the blinding whiteness lost direction of the living-room and started jumping around – hey, this wasn't that bad after all!

Ilsa was bending over with laughter. Carmine was skipping through the snow like a deer! Granted, a very well-fed deer, but that made the whole sight even funnier. She followed him into the snow, scooped up some of it, formed a snowball and threw it at him. Carmine jumped up, tried to catch it like a tennis ball and looked totally flabbergasted as the whole thing exploded right in his face.

It was the funniest thing Ilsa had seen in a long time and she just had to do it again. And again.

Then suddenly a snowball hit her square on her shoulder. Carmine couldn't have thrown it, so she turned around and there was Chance, mischievous boyish grin spreading all over his face. "You're not supposed to be out here, you're injured!", Ilsa yelled. The reply came in form of a very well-aimed snowball that collided directly with her chest. Of course that called for retaliation and in no time they were caught in a fierce battle, with Carmine jumping with joy in between them.

After a while, Chance started advancing on her. Just as he was about an arm's length from her, she stepped on an icy spot underneath the snow and slipped. He jumped forward, caught her but lost balance, too, so that they both landed on the ground, Ilsa first, Chance on top of her. Carmine decided to join the fun and leapt right into the melee. The impact of his landing on Chance's back pushed the two humans even deeper into the snow.

"Owww! How did I deserve this attack?", she spluttered, still in his arms.

"You stole my clothes", Chance told her, smiling despite his bruised and injured body protesting against all this rolling and falling. He couldn't take his eyes off Ilsa. She was dressed like a scarecrow, her hair was a tangled mess, her make-up in ruins.

She had never looked more beautiful.

"You left me behind", Ilsa replied, breaking the moment. The look on her face made it very clear that playing time was over.

As usual when a non-physical confrontation was ahead, Chance froze and fell silent. Ilsa freed herself from his arms, got up and trudged towards the French window. "I better take a shower now."

Chance wondered if this was a good moment to take Carmine and just go away before she got out of the bathroom again. Yesterday night the thought of her alone in the cabin, no matter how good the security system, had kept him from leaving immediately, but now, in broad daylight and with a heavy argument impending, things were a lot different.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Chance was sitting in the living-room, back in the armchair by the now cold fireplace, when Ilsa came downstairs, wearing her usual, classically elegant clothes like a shield. So she was elusive Mrs. Pucci again. He was frustrated and the changing weather outside reflected his mood: The sunlight was gone and new snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes. He had silently debated back and forth what to do, caught in the limbo of dithering. In the end he had remained where he was, unable to make a decision.

Only Ilsa could do that to him. With Maria, he had known he had to walk away. With Katherine, he had known he had to protect her.

Ilsa was a totally different story. A story of her own.

"Do you want me to lit the fireplace again?", Chance asked as she handed him his sweater and pants back.

"No need to, as soon as it stops snowing I'll be heading off to the airport. I'm planning an extended trip to Madrid."

Chance rolled his eyes. So she was playing _that_ card again. "Don't forget your dress", he told her, pointing his head in the direction of the corner where the cream-colored garment was lying in a heap on the floor. Ilsa grabbed it carelessly and proceeded to walk out of the room.

"What is it with you and that dress?", he asked her retreating backside. To his great surprise she stopped and turned around.

For a moment Ilsa wondered if she should start a new round of the "I have no idea what you're talking about"-game, but then a great tiredness overcame her. This was all so ridiculous and so goddamn painful, for heaven's sake! More out of surrender than anything else, she decided to go for the blunt truth. "Marshall gave it to me."

Chance blinked and shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense at all. You're treating it like a piece of rags."

"Marshall left me in the dark about the whole weapon smuggling affair. He knew he had found something dangerous, but he didn't say a word. He was in mortal danger and I didn't have the slightest idea. Apparently all I was ever good for was wearing expensive clothes!" The last sentence was a muffled cry of anguish.

"He wanted to protect you", Chance stated what to him was not only totally obvious, but also completely reasonable.

"I don't want protection!" Ilsa threw the gown against the nearest wall. She tossed it with so much force that it took down an expensive looking painting before flopping to the ground. The painting's wooden frame cracked and splintered as it crashed to the floor.

"In good and bad times, we had _promised_ each other that, and he broke that promise!"

"If he hadn't Ilsa, you would most likely be dead by now." Chance wasn't terribly experienced with being the voice of reason, so he tried to sound a little like Winston, just without the "Mrs. Pucci".

"I wouldn't call what I experienced after Marshall's death "being alive", she hissed bitterly, staring at the broken painting. She remembered well the day Marshall had brought it into this house, glowing with excitement about having found an early work of this particular painter. God, she missed him so much.

"If you had rather been dead, why did you chase me for months all the way to that ashram to get my help?"

Ilsa's shoulders sagged and she shook her head in a gesture of utter despair. "I have no death wish, Chance, but if living means being left behind for protection reasons and losing time and time again those that I…" - she hesitated, struggled with the word, wanted to hold it back and then decided to set it free after all - "… love, I don't want that either."

Chance slowly started to realize that she was just as lost and just as confused as he was. And that this conversation was not about Marshall anymore.

_Love_. The word lingered in the air.

"I can't stand the thought of losing you", she continued, her voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. "But you live such a dangerous life, the chances that one day soon... To protect myself, I tried to break all connections to you. I was fully intent on going back to London... but I didn't even make it past the airport." She swallowed hard. "The only way, Chance, even if it doesn't end well, is for me to stay with you, to spend as much time with you as possible." Tears were streaming down her face now. "But on Friday, you took some of that time from me. You pushed me away. Just like Marshall!"

Chance pulled her into his arms, into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry", he breathed into her hair.

To Ilsa it sounded as if not only he, but also her husband was apologizing and it felt as if something inside her was finally breaking free. It was both a good-bye and a new beginning. Recognizing, accepting, welcoming this, she melted into Chance and he planted a cautious kiss on her forehead. As she deeply inhaled his scent, he slowly travelled farther downwards and kissed the tears away from her closed eyelids, taking his time to savor the soft sensation of her silky skin against his mouth.

He was just about to finally reach her lips when a sudden noise, a harsh, guttural retching sound, brought everything to a screeching halt.

"Carmine?"

_**A/N: I'm currently obsessed with tree979's wonderful slash fic "A kiss is just a kiss, right?" and this chapter is a direct response to her 7th chapter which contains a heartbreaking scene between Chance and Ilsa. It's a great piece of writing and touched me so much, I just had to write something to reduce the sadness I felt when I read it. **_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"This type of infection can sleep inside the body for quite a while", the vet explained while setting up a drip infusion. "A sudden change of location can bring it out – new environment always also means dealing with a whole new set of germs. In the adaptation period the immune system is a bit weaker than usual and that, in addition to unwonted physical activity, can lead to the sleeping infection suddenly becoming active."

Carmine was lying unnaturally still on his side, eyes half-closed. He hadn't even flinched when the vet had applied the infusion. "He'll need two more of these fluid bags", he explained. "It's Lactated Ringer's Solution, mixed with a slight sedative to keep him still. He'll be needing another one tonight and an additional one very early tomorrow morning. Shall I sent someone over?"

"I can do that", Chance said. To an outsider he looked composed and sounded matter-of–factly, but Ilsa could read the way his jaw was set, the thin lines around his eyes and mouth that stemmed from tensing up his muscles… He was deeply concerned.

"Don't worry too much", the vet told Ilsa who, in contrast to Chance, looked every bit as shaken as she really was. "I would like to have him at the hospital, just to be on the safe side, but in this kind of weather the risks of transporting him outweigh the advantages. This is serious, but it's manageable. Rotties are tough, they usually deal with this kind of illness quite well. Yours is middle-aged and a bit overweight, that's what makes this infection more problematic than it usually would be. He should be a lot better in the morning. If not, call me again. And don't hesitate to notify me if he shows any signs of a worsening condition during the night! It's unlikely, but should he make a turn for the worse, you need to react fast."

Ilsa escorted the vet to the door. What she saw when she came back to the living-room was just heartbreaking: Chance cautiously stroking sleeping Carmine, behind him the huge panorama windows that showed nothing but the grayness of heavily falling snow, his face illuminated by the fire in the fireplace, revealing grave lines of sorrow.

"I'm so sorry", she whispered. "I shouldn't have dragged him all over the country."

Chance merely shook his head. "It's my fault. The vet told me time and time again that Carmine needs training, that I shouldn't feed him things off the table, but I was just… careless."

"Don't be too hard on you", Ilsa said. "You've always made him feel loved and that's something even the best training and diet plan can't outweigh. A lot of dogs, especially of his breed, are treated like mere objects – status symbols, weapons, safeguards… You really care about _him_, that's rare and he can be lucky to have you."

He let his gaze rest on her for a long moment. "Sounds like I've treated him a lot better than you", he finally said.

Ilsa's eyes lit up, part mischievously, part shy. "Then make up for it", she said.

Not sure what exactly she had in mind, Chance lowered his head and kissed her lips briefly, tentatively. As he withdrew, Ilsa lifted her head and kissed him back, a little longer, a little less tentatively. Okay, this was something he could work on. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, settling his lips firmly on her mouth this time. For a long moment they just enjoyed the tender sensation of each other's skin against skin, then Ilsa snuggled into him and rested her head against his chest. Together they watched over Carmine while the evening turned into night.

Sometime around ten Ilsa went into the kitchen and made tea. Remembering that they both hadn't eaten anything all day, she also fixed some sandwiches. Predictably, Chance said he wasn't hungry.

"Starving to punish yourself won't help Carmine", Ilsa insisted, broke a piece of bread off and fed it to him.

"Same goes for you", he replied, took the rest of the sandwich and fed it to her. The others that she had prepared remained on the plate, untouched.

Slowly the night drew on. Carmine twitched and groaned in his sleep and a few times they were close to calling the vet, but every time they went to the phone he stopped and lay still again. From time to time Chance got up to put new logs on the fire. Around 6 am the last fluid bag was empty and he removed the needle and everything else.

"How is he?", Ilsa asked drowsily. She had fallen asleep on the sofa some time past midnight. Judging from Chance's bleary eyes and his slightly ponderous movements, she could tell he hadn't.

"Not worse, but also not better", Chance replied.

"How is _your_ injury?" She rolled off the sofa and approached him cautiously. He didn't protest when she lifted his sweater and removed the bandage.

The wound looked good. It showed clear signs of healing and she decided to leave it unbandaged. Slowly but determinedly she pulled him down onto the sofa with her and made him lie back. Careful not to put pressure on any of his injuries, she huddled against him.

Shortly after they must have both fallen asleep for it was broad daylight outside when they were both woken up by a strange sensation: Something wet and warm was licking across their faces and hands.

"Carmine!" Ilsa let out a cry of joy as she saw the dog standing on his own legs again, rubbing his moist nose against Chance's palms. "This is a good sign, isn't it?"

"I think so", Chance replied, studying the dog carefully.

"Haven't you ever been through a similar experience with one of your other dogs?", Ilsa asked, surprised by his insecurity.

"I've never had a dog before Carmine."

Ilsa knew him well enough by now to sense there was more to this story. "What is it with you and Carmine?", she inquired, trying not to sound too pushing.

Chance hesitated. Should he really…? His first instinct was to remain silent. He was quite sure his words would make her feel bad and he wanted to protect her from that. Then he remembered what she had said about protection only a few hours ago.

And so he told her about Katherine.

Predictably, she reacted with shock and shame. "And I accused you of never having been in love...", she whispered, hands pressed to her mouth.

Chance hated seeing her like that. "In a way you were right", he said, staring off into the snow-covered landscape outside. "I loved her, but I never lived with her. We knew each other only for a very brief period of time and were nothing but on the run… I never actually saw her playing with Carmine, for example."

There was so much pain in that simple remark, Ilsa wanted nothing more than take it away, make him somehow, at least for a short moment, forget what he had lost. She leaned over, cupped his face in her hands, planted a firm kiss on his lips and proceeded to let her tongue invade his mouth.

Chance more than welcomed her. His tongue met hers half-way and the sudden sensation of her hot, wet flesh against his, inside of him, sent shivers down his spine and made him burn for more. Ilsa straddled his lap, grinding against his hips, and reached, still kissing him longingly and passionately, for his belt.

At this very moment, Chance froze.

"What?", she asked, breathless and confused.

"I've heard something", he muttered under his breath.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"Anyone home?" Winston's unmistakable booming voice. Chance and Ilsa jumped apart like teenagers caught in the act by the girl's father, each scrambling to get to a separate piece of seating furniture.

The door to the cabin's living-room opened, revealing Winston's large frame. He was carrying several bulging brown paper bags.

"Mr. Winston! I'm acutely astonished to see you standing right in the center of my very private living quarters, given that my embarrassingly expensive alert system has not gone off. How did you get in here?", Ilsa asked, trying very hard to pretend she had sat completely alone, isolated and with no contact to any human being whatsoever, in the armchair by the fireplace.

"Hey, dude. Boss…"

Behind Winston, Guerrero appeared, busy with packing away a small leather etui that contained a collection of metal instruments in various length and sizes. The men were followed in short pursuit by Ames. "How is Carmine?", she blurted out, obviously worried.

Her question was almost immediately answered when the dog let out a yelp of joy and greeted the visitors, happily wagging his stumpy tail, totally enjoying to be the center of attention.

"How did you…", Ilsa started, but Chance already knew the answer.

"Still spying on Ilsa, Guerrero?", he grinned, not even trying to sound disapproving.

"Cell phone record said she called a local vet, dude. Vet's computer said it was an emergency."

"How _is_ he?", Ames asked again, cautiously patting Carmine's back.

"Better, but he needs some more rest."

"Seems to me you could do with some rest, too", Winston observed, first studying his friend and then taking a good look at Ilsa. Was it only him or were they looking somewhat… guilty?

Guerrero was already past the point of wondering. He let a knowing smirk spread across his face Chance hoped Ilsa wouldn't see. Thank God Winston unwittingly provided distraction: "We've brought food. Breakfast anyone?" As he followed Chance's nod in the direction of the kitchen, Ilsa noticed that he was limping quite significantly.

She hadn't realized how hungry she was till the delicious smell of fresh pancakes made her stomach growl. For a while they just ate, the relaxed silence only occasionally interrupted by some friendly bickering between Winston and Guerrero. After two muffins, a bowl of cereal and her third pancake with maple syrup, Ilsa sat back and just watched them for a while, this odd group of people whose company she preferred to any baron, industrial magnate or high society lady anytime. Carefully she took in Ames' eye-patch and Guerrero's bandaged right hand. Winston's limp and the ugly gash across Chance's stomach flashed up in her mind, too.

"So", she finally spoke up. "Why don't you tell me about that job you took on without me?"

"Went south", Winston mumbled, concentrating very hard on his scrambled eggs. They had mused in the car that this conversation would come and they had all agreed that it wouldn't be comfortable. They knew Ilsa well enough by now to guess that she was most likely seriously pissed.

"Dude had his basement turned into a goddamn Indiana Jones obstacle course", Guerrero snarled.

"We needed a certain piece of information out of someone's safe. Turned out the safe was in a vault and the vault in a labyrinth under his mansion, secured with all sorts of weird traps", Chance explained.

"A flat pond full of small caimans", Winston grumbled.

"Chloride spray coming out of nozzles at eye level", Ames added.

"Self-heating doorknobs." Guerrero opened and closed the palm of his right hand a few times.

"Flying knives, suddenly shooting out of the walls." Chance briefly touched his abdomen.

"So I gather you didn't push the blue button to disarm all these security installments?"

They all looked at Ilsa as if she had just sprouted a second head.

"You paid Arthur Wiliamson's mansion a visit, didn't you? Well, there's this hideous oversized fresco in Arthur's entrance hall. If you look close enough you'll notice that the white stallion the knight that slightly looks like Arthur is sitting on has bicolored eyes, one blue and one red. They're in truth very flat buttons – the red one activates the underground security system, the blue one completely switches it off. Even the pond with the caimans gets covered so you can safely cross it."

Guerrero surely would prefer another term, but there was no denying it: The team looked quite dumbfounded.

"Marshall and Arthur spent the better part of the summer of 1989 turning the basement of the mansion into their private version of the Temple of Doom", Ilsa continued. "That was before we got married", she added with a slight roll of her eyes. "Billionaire boys with too much time at their hands…"

Ilsa locked eyes with Chance.

"Back at the opera, before the whole hostage ordeal started, you saw me talking to Arthur and his wife, so you knew I was close to them. You didn't want me to face the moral conflict of having to betray a friend, did you? That's why you left me behind."

Chance shrugged his shoulders.

Ilsa nodded slowly.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then Ames couldn't restrain herself any longer: "You don't happen to have an indoor pool in here somewhere, do you, Mrs. Pucci?"

Although it stopped snowing sometime around noon, they stayed indoors the whole day. Ames retreated into the cabin's wellness area in the basement. "What a happy coincidence I brought my bikini!", she chirped and disappeared downstairs. Chance and Winston settled on the sofa to enjoy the dozens of pay TV sport channels Ilsa had access to.

Guerrero discovered a set of hand-carved Chinese dominoes displayed as decoration in one of the cabin's glass cabinets and introduced Ilsa to the fine art of Pai Gow. Ilsa had quite a knack for all sorts of gambling and took to the new game easily. Nevertheless when she started actually playing against Guerrero, she made strange mistakes, as if she wasn't really concentrating.

It didn't take Guerrero long to figure out what, or more exactly, who she was thinking about. All he had to do was follow her gaze that tended to wander to the sofa time and time again.

Came evening, they were all rather tired. Sleeping arrangement were easily made. Since there was no way Guerrero and Winston were going to share a room, Chance ended up with his friend in the bigger guestroom, Ames and Ilsa occupied the master bedroom and Winston had the smaller guestroom to himself. Carmine made himself comfortable in the middle of the corridor where he could keep an eye on every door and watch over all of them.

Considering how exhausting the past few days had been, Chance should have slept like a log, but instead he tossed and turned and woke up almost every hour till, in the very early morning, even before dawn, he couldn't get back to sleep at all anymore. The memory of Ilsa's kisses and touches haunted him and kept him awake. Snuggling, huddling and cuddling in an attempt to find comfort and forgiveness was fine, but by now, with the lingering sensation of her skin against his, he had developed a painful desire in the literal sense, hard and straining against his boxer shorts.

He _wanted_ Ilsa. Now.

The knowledge that she was just a few feet away made the whole thing even more arduous. And with Guerrero so close next to him, he couldn't even help himself to some release!

As the clock in the living-room downstairs struck five, Chance finally had enough. Silent as a jungle cat, he slid out of bed. It was time to take action.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

_**A/N: A somewhat – erm – more detailed (= smut) version of this chapter is hiding in the M section. Mature eyes only, please. I hope, after all this teasing, I don't disappoint. Thank you, THANK YOU all so much for your reviews, every single one is a wonderful gift and has really helped me stay motivated! **_

Ilsa couldn't sleep. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, reality and dream blending into each other in a confusing stream of images. As much as it touched her that the team had come all the way from California to make sure they were all okay, this time she would have really preferred them to stay as far away as possible.

Yes, she did see the irony in this.

Be careful what you wish for.

Damn, she had been so close to Chance! For once she had been able to push all the inhibiting memories and reservations aside and focus on the moment – the moment in Chance's arms, on his lap, feeling need and being needed. Instinct and desire had taken over and everything had seemed so easy. Now, with the knowledge that the team had been to Arthur's mansion and all the flashbacks from the Summer of 1989 flooding her mind, things were back to "complicated" again.

Should she really start a relationship with a man who had such a, mildly put, _checkered_ past and a very - VERY - uncertain future? Could she really do this with the vivid remembrance of Marshall still so strong in her mind?

She was so tired of this windmill of questions, going round and round in her head. Hoping to catch another hour of sleep, she shifted to lie on her left side.

At this very moment a hand clasped over her mouth, strong and firm. The other hand and – a knee? – pinned her arms to the mattress, making sure she couldn't struggle.

She opened her eyes to see Chance's face looming above her, vaguely illuminated by the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains. His eyes bore into her, making her feel naked despite the pajamas she was wearing.

Ilsa realized all the goddamn indecisiveness could finally come to an end RIGHT NOW. He would make the decision for her – all she needed to do was let him.

A giant wave of relief washed over her and again the irony of the situation didn't escape her – being held down with force, restrained and rendered immobile, she felt more freed from any binding ties than ever before.

Chance could feel the edges of her mouth twitch upwards underneath the palm of his hand. That was all the agreement he needed. With one swift motion he yanked her out of bed and dragged her, hand still firmly pressed over her mouth, out of the room. Totally oblivious to what was going on around her, Ames didn't even stir.

The complete soundlessness with which he managed to get her into the corridor sent shivers of excitement down Ilsa's spine. This was a man familiar with violence, a practiced assassin using his skills to get to her and make her his. A dangerous man, almost unstoppable in his ardor and determination.

Unless she told him so.

Ilsa knew for sure – one word from her and he would stop. Immediately.

She felt like the most powerful woman in the world.

Right outside the master bedroom she broke free from his hold and kissed him passionately, tongue thrusting hard into his mouth. Chance, recognizing this game for what it was, kissed her back forcefully before twisting her arm and clasping her mouth shut with his hand again. He frogmarched her down the stairs, kissing her neck and shoulder. As they reached the foot of the stairs his teeth were grazing her first vertebra cautiously, but by no means gentle, as his tongue twirled over the sensitive area like a whirlwind of pleasure.

Thank God he was still silencing her as he bit down on her once. She would have woken up the whole house.

Not wasting any time, he swept her off her feet and carried her into the storage room adjacent to the living-room.

Chance firmly closed the door and for a long time nothing could be heard except for a rather loud clattering once.

Afterwards they just lay together on the floor for a long time.

"Doesn't seem anyone noticed", Chance finally said, commenting on the still profound silence in the cabin. In fact, it was a bit too silent, considering that three other people and a dog were underneath this roof, two of them quite notorious for their constant bickering. Cautiously Chance and Ilsa sneaked out of the storage room. Outside it was broad daylight, the snow shimmering blindingly. Hours must have passed since they had retreated to the small chamber.

They needn't tiptoe far. A note was lying on the coffee table in the living-room. Apparently it had been reworked a couple of times.

At first Winston, in his almost illegible cop hand, had written: _"There's a lot of paperwork at the office where you can't really help, so we decided to go back to Frisco already and get done with it while you two…" _– here he had obviously paused because the flow of his writing showed a break – _"… make sure that Carmine is completely healthy again before travelling with him."_

Ames, with her twirly script, had added: _"You've got such a nice wellness area, Mrs. Pucci, it's a pity not to use it. Same goes for that pretty silverware you've got. Wouldn't it look fantastic in candlelight, CHANCE? And Carmine surely would enjoy a long walk along the shore during sunset..."_ She had added a winking smiley at the end of her message.

Then someone – and who could it have been but Guerrero? – had crossed out all of it with one swift stroke and written only three words: _"Take your time!"_

Chance grinned as he read it.

"So they're all gone", Ilsa stated. "What are we going to do now?"

"Now?", Chance laughed. "Now I finally want to _hear _you!" Still chuckling, he pulled her close and proceeded to cover her neck with long, lingering kisses.

**- the end - **


End file.
